


Agent Not-So-Dead

by OneForMischief



Series: The Misadventures of Darcy Lewis and Agent Not-So-Dead [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Agent Barclay-original character, Agent Vasquez - OC, Beth the Waitress - Freeform, Coulson Lives, Donuts, Emily The Front Desk Girl - OC, F/M, Geno Moretti - OC, SHIELD, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wakanda, World Security Council - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:51:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneForMischief/pseuds/OneForMischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy Lewis spots Phil Coulson on the street in Chicago four months after his apparent death. Just to be certain, she...keeps an eye on him for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When she first spots him, she knows that it can’t be who she thinks it is, and yet she’s equally certain that she’s never going to forget his face.

He shouldn’t be in Chicago. He shouldn’t be anywhere - four months ago, she received a package and a certified letter from “The Estate of Phillip J. Coulson,” informing her that she had been left her own iPod by a man whose death hit her hard, though she had barely known him. He should be as she’s pictured him, cold in a box in the ground, and yet there he is, crossing the street in her direction.

Darcy spins behind the building and waits until she’s sure he’s gone before she pulls out her phone and calls Jane.

* * *

She’s sure, but she didn’t mention him to Jane. At the last minute it occurred to her that SHIELD could be keeping tabs on her phone calls in case she decides to ignore the confidentiality agreements and go to the media. She knows that one of their jackbooted thugs followed her around during the whole “Avengers” thing.

After that, she’d deleted her Facebook and Twitter. She doesn’t need IP addresses keeping tabs on her whereabouts for them.

But what to do about Agent Not-So-Dead? According to Jane, who recently visited Stark Tower to discuss Thor’s most recent form of intergalactic travel with Tony Stark himself, the resident superheroes have been super depressed about their inability to protect their own. There’s no way that they know he’s alive.

So does SHIELD know, and they’re keeping it from the Avengers? Or has Phillip J. Coulson taken off on a clandestine misadventure?

There’s only one way to find out.


	2. Swing Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been seventeen days. Seventeen days of taking up residence in a large stuffed chair in the Starbucks at the corner opposite where she’d seen him and pretending to study while she watches the road and makes a chai latte last five or six hours.

You can’t follow a spy without getting caught.

This Darcy knows, from some combination of instinct and too many James Bond films. Coulson gave off, in New Mexico and in the way he crossed that damned street, an air of extreme competence. She would not be able to keep open surveillance of him away from his notice.

People who live on the edge of great adventures still have their habits, though, whether it’s the way they take their martinis or the comfort of reading the same book every year at Christmas. There must be a shape and pattern to Coulson’s life, even if it consists of long stretches away from it.

The trick is finding it.

* * *

 

It’s been seventeen days. Seventeen days of taking up residence in a large stuffed chair in the Starbucks at the corner opposite where she’d seen him and pretending to study while she watches the road and makes a chai latte last five or six hours.

It’s seven minutes past five when he crosses the street.

* * *

 

He crosses at the same time for three days, misses one, and then goes in the opposite direction just past one the next afternoon.

Darcy scribbles this in the margin of her old textbook.

* * *

 

She switches her shifts at the bookstore and begins going into the Starbucks in the mornings, earlier than she’d like to be awake. She goes in tired, with less make-up and her hair twisted into a rumpled bun, and changes her order to a venti house roast with no room for anything but coffee.

The college girl working inconvenient hours and studying in semi-inexpensive places is a role that she plays with ease, having only stopped living it less than a year ago.

* * *

 

The reward for her efforts comes on the very first day this time, when he walks past the window at seven minutes to seven.

Seven minutes, at a brisk pace, to the east.

She smirks and notes this on the next page.


	3. How to Unsettle a Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy decides that the surveillance portion of her mission is at an end.

If you intend to unsettle an agent who may have once been a spy, you’ve got to be thorough.

According to Jane, the Black Widow and Hawkeye (the Spider and the Bird, in phone-code, as though that would fool anyone at all) aren’t on edge at all times like she might have expected. They’ve been doing this too long to be spooked by minor coincidences, though Jane is certain they notice them more quickly than most. Coulson is better than they are. He must be, to have been their handler.

What makes a spy a handler? Is it age, or injury, or preference? Something else, she thinks. Something specific – a loss or a gain that brought him out of the field, though perhaps his almost-death was an opportunity for him to get back to it.

Each Avenger keeps a bloodstained Captain America trading card on his or her person at all times, according to Jane, who heard it from a tearful Thor on the phone the morning after the battle of New York and had it confirmed accidentally when Stark decided to suit up in the labs and transferred his from Armani suit to Iron Man suit.

* * *

 

The building seven minutes directly east at a brisk pace is tall, relatively new, and absolutely nothing special, except that the lobby signage indicates that there is a Shield Security Systems, Inc. located on the top floor.

Darcy surveys the other listings and grins.

* * *

 

“I was hoping to find a reprint of something vintage, maybe? He’s got all of the originals but he doesn’t even get to read them, they’re all in the little acid-free sleeves,” Darcy rambles cheerfully as the clerk at the comic book store starts to recover from the distraction of her sweater.

It's irritating, but he will remember her later, and that’s what she intended.

* * *

 

“It’s absolutely perfect,” she says to herself as she presses her nail into the crease and slides it across. When it’s finished, she makes one swift motion and watches the perfect little paper airplane crash into the trash can.

* * *

 

She arrives seven minutes early for her appointment, giving her time to sign in and assure the receptionist that no, she certainly didn’t mind waiting for her stylist.

She takes the seat directly under the window, makes sure the receptionist isn’t looking, and opens it.


	4. In The Barrel

The sharp collision of the plane and his head puts Phil Coulson on high alert.

His first thought is that it’s someone from the office, letting out some pent-up frustration with him, and his second is that a bored teenager has been left alone on one of the other floors, but then he picks it up and his blood runs cold.

* * *

 

He studies it carefully under the lamp on his office desk. It’s perfectly constructed to hit its target – physically and mentally.

The lines are crisp and clear, without one single unintentional crease, and the page was cut quickly and precisely with a very sharp blade. The paper itself is cut from a reprint of a Captain America issue he’s very fond of, which is why it disturbs him but also why, upon unfolding it, he immediately notices the writing that’s been added around the margins.

_We have a lot to discuss, Agent Not-So-Dead. At 5:07 pm tomorrow, enter the Starbucks instead of passing it._

It would have had him on the phone to Director Fury had he not recognized the handwriting from the notes that he confiscated during the New Mexico incident. Instead, he folds the page back into the airplane and considers the way she folded the page.

On one upper panel, Steve Rogers’ face smiles up at him in an enthusiastic salute. On the other, half of a quotation is visible.

“a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short (umm, shorter than the usual shortness). The next two are written, though, and I'll update on Saturday.


	5. Color Me Impressed

At 5:07, he enters the Starbucks, approaches the counter, and orders a  venti  Pike Place with no room without glancing at her at all.

He’s exactly as she had remembered.

* * *

“Hello, Miss Lewis,” he smiles, taking the seat across from her .

“ Hello, Phil,” she says fondly.  “ I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from the excitement of  the Big Apple.”

“Thank you. It was a little  more strenuous  than I’d expected, but I think it went well enough. So what brings you to Chicago?”

“I had a minor position in one of the local offices for the Obama campaign, and I haven’t found anything worth moving elsewhere for yet,” she explains honestly. If she wants to pull deeper truths from him, she can’t start by lying  about things he could probably find without breaking out any special clearances.

“That’s right; you were a political science major, weren’t you?’ he asks, as though he might have actually forgotten something.

“ Yep. You know me, full of idealistic notions  about social justice,” Darcy quips.

“We always did have that in common, Miss –“

“Darcy. Call me Darcy, please. ”

“Darcy,” he obliges her with a small smile. “ If you don’t mind cutting to the chase, how long ago did you find out where I was?”

“Twenty-six days .”

“Really?  You should have gotten in touch earlier – I was just at a dinner for  Mayor Emanuel, I could have introduced you,” he says, tapping a finger against his phone casually as he sets his cup next to it and shooting her a pointed look.

“ Pics  or it didn’t happen,” she grins.

“You really are a child of the internet,” he chuckles, sliding the phone across. She picks it up and flips it open, finding that the notepad is open. There is only one note, which she reads immediately.

_ We are going to leave together. As soon as we are one block north, you will take my hand. Until we reach our destination – a hotel five blocks from there – we are a married couple on our way  back from dinner. _

“Color me impressed, Phil.  Hey,  do you  wanna  get out of here? If I drink any more coffee, I’ll never sleep tonight, and there’s a nice Thai place a few blocks away.”

"I love Thai,” he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of don't like this chapter, but that might be because the next one is my favorite so far? Eh, I don't know. Will update on Monday!


	6. Nice Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Phil,” she huffs. “You’d think after I spent a month stalking you, we’d be on a first-name basis.”

She smiles down at their intertwined fingers on the walk to the hotel, pleased that her decision to wear a dress that would complement his suits had paid off. Nobody on the street has paid them any more attention than she would expect a couple of their age difference to receive.

“I thought the  view  was lovely, dear, but I’m not fond of  the Signature Room,” she muses.

“You know, I think you’re right,” Phil agrees as they wait for the light to cross.  “For that sort of money, I can think of at least five places with better food.”

“For less money, I can think of dozens,” Darcy laughs, skipping slightly when the light changes. She tugs him along  playfully, exchanging lines about an evening that she’s sure would have been nice enough, if they’d lived it.

* * *

While Phil closes the door, she does a quick survey of the living area. It’s a large suite, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has done a decent job at hiding the scramblers and bugs. She suspects that there are more throughout the remaining rooms.

“Y ou should tell your boss to take Stark up on his offer. I mean, sure, he’d probably store all of your interrogations, but the increase in subtlety wouldn’t kill you. It’s not too soon to say things like that, is it?”

“Miss Lewis.”

“Phil,” she huffs.  “You’d think after I spent a month stalking you, we’d be on a first-name basis .”

“About that,” he begins, taking a seat in a plush wingback.

“Yes, about that,” Darcy agrees, settling gracefully into the chair opposite his .

“You managed to perform a surveillance operation on a level six S.H.I. E.L.D. agent without his notice, which would impress me even I weren’t the aforem entioned agent, but I’m sure you can see why it’s also a huge problem.”

“Because it implies that I’m a threat to the safety of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, since I could have shot you instead of just freaking you out, or I’m a stalker, or –“

“Or you’re an asset.”

“Is that a job offer?”

“That depends,” he says, leaning forward . “Why did you do it?”

Darcy brushes her hair behind her ear and looks away for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell him.

“Lewis.”

“Coulson,” she huffs jokingly, shooting him a playful look.

“This is post-game. You don’t need to run  out the clock,” he murmurs encouragingly, keeping his eyes on hers until she relaxes.

“When they were on the news, I recognize d Hawkeye from New Mexico. He was in the diner once, when I went a couple of days after Thor left. And then this girl from my high school, Beth Marshall, was saved by Captain America when Loki attacked New York. And now Jane lives with  superheroes , and they all walk around with a ghost on their heels, and I saw him crossing the street. How could I walk away from all of that ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just makes me happy for some reason. Chapter 7 will be up either tomorrow or Wednesday!
> 
> Also, so much love to all commenters, kudos-givers, and other readers.


	7. Agent Ninety-Three

“Do you do this for money?”

“No, sir!”

Up and down and up and down and her arms are killing her but she can do this and then she can go home and make fun of P90X commercials.

* * *

“Do you do this for glory?”

“No, sir!”

In high school, she ran an eleven minute mile in freshman year and then skipped the fitness test to smoke for the next three. Now, seven minutes are not fast enough and she is not good enough and –

“Lewis! This is not a cake walk at your family reunion! This is a test, and I am not afraid to fail you!”

* * *

“ Do you do this for  power ?”

“No, sir!”

There’s a wisp of hair glued to her cheek and she can’t move it until she does thirty-seven more push-ups, which she knows because the number is being bellowed at her after each one as if she can’t count and die at the same time.

* * *

“I hate you,” she groans, flopping onto the bed gracelessly. Phil looks up from the file he’s spread over the desk and grins at her.

“I hear you ran a 6:30 today.”

“Well, yeah, I’m a badass, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

“Would you feel better if I told you I brought donuts?”

* * *

Darcy wakes up halfway through the  Supernanny  episode with Carnie Wilson to find that Phil is passed out next to her. He’s managed to fall asleep holding a donut, and there’s jelly dripping onto his tie.

In the seven weeks that she’s been training, they’ve met at the hotel every Thursday, except for the third week, when she’d found a note and a spa package waiting. He’d gotten some much needed field time and she’d gotten a massage that had nearly made her forget the  rope burns  she’d  earned  that day.  She’d missed the reassurance that she was doing well, though.

She hadn’t expected them to become anything like friends, but she thinks now that they might be headed in that direction – after all, she’s the only person from before he died who knows he’s alive, other than  the Director, and he’s the only person she can talk to about her training. It makes sense, as much as any of this does.

“Phil, I’m going to  liberate  your donut. Stay asleep if that’s okay,” she whispers softly, waiting a few seconds and then grinning as she reaches for it.

* * *

“Do you do this for your country?”

“No, sir!”  she answers, pulling herself up with willpower as much as the rope and running down the net on the other side.

“Yes, sir!” the other two remaining candidates shout, and Darcy smirks as she drops to the ground and shimmies under the barbed wire netting.

* * *

She stands alone where  four  others stood with her eight weeks ago .  One couldn’t pass the physical tests, one quit in the third week for ‘personal reasons,’ which she suspects is polite agent talk for ‘he  pussied  out,’ and the last two made the mistake of swearing American allegiance. S.H.I.E.L.D. is a global agency – it has no country, and neither do its agents.

“Congratulations, Lewis,” her trainer says , granting her a smile for the first time.

“That’s Agent Lewis,” Phil cuts in, stepping through the doorway. “Would you excuse us, Agent Barclay?”

“Of course, sir,” Barclay nods, and then he’s gone so quickly that Darcy wouldn’t have noticed his exit if she had taken her eyes off of him.

“He’s good, you know.  Sir.”

“I’d have never let him train you if he weren’t.”

“I know that,” she smiles.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask you this – are you sure this is what you want?”

* * *

“My name is Darcy Abigail Lewis , and I make this oath in full sobriety and clarity of mind. I solemnly declare and promise to exercise in all loyalty, discretion, and conscience the functions entrusted to me as a civil servant of the World Security Council and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., to discharge these functions and regulate my conduct with the interests of the aforementioned parties only in view, and not to seek or accept instructions in regard to the pe rformance of my duties from any government or other external source.”

“As the ranking representative of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the World Security Council, I acknowledge your oath and declare you Agent Darcy Lewis of S.H.I.E.L.D. Here is your service weapon,” Phil announces, handing her the gun. She checks the safety before she holsters it, which earns an approving nod from Agent Barclay.

“And here is your badge,” Agent Coulson continues, handing it to her. “You are, in terms of rank and the official recognition of the WSC, Agent Ninety-Three. Your first assignment is on your desk, Agent Lewis. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” she grins  as the other agents begin to applaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's oath is a modified version of the civil service oath of the United Nations, in case you were wondering.
> 
> Also, I hope it was clear that they're not having sexual relations of any kind, and they're just bonding on SHIELD's dime, sort of. More on the hotel thing later.
> 
> I'm sorry this was posted later than planned, but AO3 and my laptop are apparently at war. I wound up putting the file in Dropbox and posting from my phone. The next chapter is written and will go up tomorrow!


	8. What Came After; or "I'll Always Be Your Steve Buscemi"

She lays awake at night sometimes, running her fingers over the edge of her badge. The last Agent Ninety-Three was a man named Troy Johnson, and he died under seven floors of collapsing rubble when the Tesseract destroyed the base at Puente Antiguo. She wonders how long he carried it in his pocket and if his wife resented that it belonged to a new agent and not to her. Maybe she had wanted to bury it with her husband, or maybe she was glad she never had to see it again. Darcy will probably never know.

* * *

  


Surveillance.

She should have expected it, really. It’s the risk she took when she sought out a career in which she’d already proven that she had a knack for a particular task.

‘I am the Steve Buscemi of this place. You only hired me for my creepy eyes,’ she texts Phil. ‘Also, the short dude is just the middle man. $50 says he’s related to the guy bringing the girls in, though. He acts like he has more power than he does.’

‘How do you know,’ he fires back instantly.

‘He’s too loud and stupid to be the boss,’ she tell him, casually observing the exchange of money out of the corner of her eye. She’s in a booth across the row, leaning over her phone and smiling at every text like a girl in love and only taking bites of her pie when there’s nothing to say. She could be anyone, and it’s a little liberating after weeks in training.

‘Factual observations, 93.’

‘Oxymoron, 3. He’s not bright enough to know he’s sent in because he’d take the fall. It’ll be tough to find evidence on the real boss if we don’t hit him while he’s waiting to unload a shipment. I’d guess this guy is a cousin or a brother. See if his maternal aunts have sons.’

* * *

  


“My reports, Agent Vasquez,” she smiles, handing them over.

“They’re even in my favorite order,” the older woman observes, flipping through them quickly.

“Expense, observation, time sheets,” Darcy nods. “I noticed that that’s the order the stacks are in on your desk.”

“You really are an odd one, Agent Lewis.”

* * *

  


 “Welcome back, Mrs. Clark. Mr. Clark wanted us to inform you that he would be thirty-two minutes late this evening and that he sends his greatest apologies,” Emily informs her from behind the desk.

“Did Mr. Clark say anything else?” Darcy asks, looking at the girl over her sunglasses.

“Yes. He would like you to choose between red and white so that we can deliver the finest bottle we have to your suite.”

“Red. That man always did know how to win my forgiveness.”

* * *

  


“Thirty-two minutes and one deep glass,” she says by way of greeting when she hears him come in.

“Meetings with Chicago PD. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,” he sighs, flopping onto the chair closest to her feet and toeing his shoes off. Darcy pushes herself up and pours him a glass, which he accepts eagerly.

“Was I right?”

“He has one maternal aunt, and she’s his mother’s older sister. She has one son.”

“And?”

“And…his name is Geno Moretti, and he’s probably our guy. His rap sheet is as long as your arm if you’re looking at his arrests, but his only conviction was for possession of a trivial amount of cocaine when he was seventeen. It wasn’t enough to imply intent to sell.”

“What about our inside girl?”

“Tracer says she’s still at sea. We need to get one on him before the shipment lands.”

“This is the worst Plan A I’ve ever agreed to, you know.”

“It’s a compliment. You’re my prettiest agent,” Phil smirks, removing his tie.

“Vasquez is the only other woman in the office, and she’s thirty years too old for this. That’s not saying much,” she laughs.

* * *

  


When she gets out of the shower in the morning, she finds him sitting on the end of the bed and looking at her badge.

“Did you know him?”

“Not well. I passed him on the stairs on my way out.”

She knows, just by the look in his eyes, that he’s going to places he shouldn’t be, and she won’t stand for it. She kneels in front of him and takes his chin in her hand until he meets her eyes.

“You do not get to feel guilty. You died, too. What came after was just luck, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeeeeels. I have got some Troy Johnson feels, you guys.
> 
> Anyway. Darcy's first mission, which is going to lead to some awesome long-term stuff. I'm excited. Also, Agent Vasquez and Emily The Front Desk Girl will be recurring characters.
> 
> Will update on Sunday! Actually, maybe tomorrow if I have time to post, because the next two are already written.


	9. Something to Remember Me By

“Snowed under, snowed under, snowed under,” she repeats in her head during her private lessons, as though it will prepare her for what comes next.

* * *

 

“I want to make it very clear that I hate you right now,” Darcy murmurs.

“Fully understood. I feel like a creep,” Phil replies, staring at her breasts. He looks to the rest of the world like a man thoroughly enjoying a lap dance, but he’s as uncomfortable as she is.

Well, maybe not. Thongs are not her style.

* * *

 

It’s half past nine when Moretti’s crew arrives, and Darcy is, as per the CPD agreement with the owner of the strip club – whose lack of liquor license was very convenient – one of the girls selected to join them in the VIP room. She does not look back at Coulson.

* * *

 

The tracer is an ingenious bit of Stark micro technology, and is transferred from its hiding place behind her ear to her fingertip when she brushes a lock of hair out of her face. From there it’s just an easy touch of her hand against his Rolex as she grinds against him and the tracer is in place.

* * *

 

Moretti slaps her on the ass and slips a pair of fifties into her panties, smirking at her.

“Little something to remember me by, sweetheart.”

* * *

 

The places closes thirty minutes after they leave, and Darcy goes from the back door straight into the waiting Lexus.

“I made almost six hundred bucks tonight,” she quips, reaching into the bag on the floor and pulling the black knit dress over her head. Phil pulls out of the parking lot a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“Any plans for how you’ll spend it?” he tries to joke.

“Heck yes. First, I’m buying these shoes. Did you see what they do for my thighs? Not going into the mission closet. The rest I fully intend to blow on a celebratory couples massage for the Clarks after we nail that bastard.”

* * *

 

Darcy is writing up an amended expense report that does not include the shoes along with the appropriate tax documentation for the money earned while stripping undercover - because being a secret agent involves a surprisingly large paper trail - when her secured cell buzzes in her pocket.

She doesn’t even look at it before she sprints for the stairs.

“Tracers are sixty yards apart and steady,” Barclay says as he catches up to her two floors down.

“Have we accessed the nearest cameras, satellites, cell –“

“One call from the idiot cousin. Still tracing the number.”

* * *

 

“Warehouse, no clear camera views. We think Geno’s just there to check the merchandise, so we might not bag a buyer,” Phil tells them when they get to the car. “Lewis, your go-bag is –“

“Already on it, boss,” Darcy says, slamming the door and pulling her shirt over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was shorter than intended because of the way I wanted to start the next chapter, but on the bright side, this one started with a huge spoiler. Sort of.
> 
> And plus also, there will be some dumbassery and some badassery and a vaccination in the next chapter, which will go up tomorrow. So MORE SPOILERS. Sort of.


	10. If It's A Choice Between This And Lockjaw...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...then I'm glad I picked the vaccine.

Things had gone wrong from the minute they got into the warehouse.

SWAT had gone first, with Darcy and Phil on their heels and the rest of the SHIELD team behind them, and the plan had been simple enough – SWAT would handle Moretti’s crew while the SHIELD agents rescued the girls.

And then Moretti recognized Darcy.

* * *

 

She’s after him the minute she sees the idea to run flick across his eyes, but he’s over a hundred yards away and he’s the kind of guy who works out religiously just so he looks like it when he goes to clubs. The head start is enough.

She doesn’t look back when she hears Phil call her name.

* * *

 

He’s a man who knows how to run from cops, so Darcy doesn’t run like a cop. When he thinks he’s lost her among the maze of crates, she stays out of sight and lets him think it through, watching his eyes.

The crates, the scaffolding, back the way they came, the sealed loading dock. There aren’t any good choices, because they can hear the rest of her team approaching and he’s not willing to end it yet. He’ll climb either the – the crates.

Darcy grins and starts climbing.

* * *

 

“I’d appreciate it if we could hurry this along, Mr. Moretti,” Phil sighs, checking his watch. She can’t see him, but she knows.

“I bet you would. I know what you’re after.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“Smart enough that I ain’t never been a snitch,” Moretti spits. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the agents below until the taser gets him and he drops.

“A little something to remember me by, sweetheart,” Darcy grins, pulling herself up.

* * *

 

“That’s the last thing I remember. Ironic, I know,” she groans as the doctor stitches her arm up.

“Oh, good. You don’t remember screaming like a girl. We were afraid you’d be embarrassed,” Barclay teases. Phil smiles but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not that bad. Thirteen stitches and a tetanus shot will cover the damage from the crate and the rest is just bruising. Take a day off, Agent Lewis. You’ll be fine.”

“Did you hear that, boss? Doc says I don’t have to come in tomorrow.”

* * *

 

“When he had the first spasm, his foot broke the crate,” Barclay fills her in while Phil gets the car.

“And we both went tumbling. Loose nail?” Darcy guesses, lifting her arm slightly.

“Yep, you caught it on the way down. And that, Agent Lewis, is why we don’t hit people with Tasers when it could get us injured,” he chides.

“Yes, sir,” she cringes, more than a little embarrassed about  closing her first mission by taking herself out.

* * *

 

“Mrs. Clark!”

“I’m fine, Emily. My rental car took the worst of it, I’m afraid,” Darcy assures her with a small smile.

“Honey, head up without me, won’t you? I need to take care of something,” Phil asks, kissing her on the top of her head.

* * *

 

“Are you okay?” he asks when he comes up to the room.

“What the hell was that?” she demands, getting up a little more slowly than her frustration would like and pinning him with an accusatory glare.

“What was what?”

“If you’re going to pretend you don’t know, you should at least have the guts to look me in –“

“Shut up, Agent Lewis.”

“Oh, so now I’m Agent Lewis again, am I? I thought after the donuts and the dinners and the fucking hand-holding, we might really be past that,” she huffs, storming off towards the bedroom.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, she walks back out and hands him her pocket knife.

“What’s this for?”

“I need you to cut my shirt off. I can’t lift my fucking arm.”

“Are you –“

“If you ask me if I’m okay one more –“

“I was going to ask if you were sure,” Phil retorts, standing up and flicking the knife open. Before she can respond, he’s sliced through the bottom seam. He drags the knife up and away from her skin slowly, carefully, and then she’s standing in front of him without anything clever to say.

“This is the second time this week that you’ve seen me in just a bra,” she tries, but her voice shakes a little and it doesn’t come out sounding like a joke.

“There are two ways this could go,” Phil murmurs. “One…I could think of some terribly clever thing to say that would make it okay for me to kiss you, even though I’m twice your age and sort of your boss…”

“And two?”

“I could tell you about the time I had to cut the Director out of a scuba suit with a rusty kitchen knife.”

“Three. I’m going to kiss you now, and you can tell me the story in the morning,” Darcy tells him, and then they’re meeting in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time - are they a couple now? Did stuff just get awkward? How did Fury get stuck in a scuba suit? What did Phil need to take care of? Will Moretti snitch in the end? What is it that they need that guy for, anyway?


	11. In Whatever State She's In

“Snowed under, snowed under, snowed under,” she murmurs, sweeping the powdery layer off of the ice with her hands. She knows that she’s dreaming, because the stitches are still there and she’d never start a mission in a bra by choice, but something inside her won’t let her wake up until she pulls him up and out.

The dream is the same every time – Darcy, in whatever state she’s in that day, digs him out, fills him in, and brings him home. Sometimes Phil is there. Sometimes one or more of them dies.

But she always brings him home.

* * *

 

“Hey, Jane,” Darcy says cheerfully, trying not to wince as Phil inspects her wounds. He makes no sign of apology, which she loves, really.

“Darcy!” Jane shrieks. “Since when do you take a whole day to return calls? I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, and nobody would even know now that you’re a hermit.”

“For your information, I was on a date. And in the hospital,” Darcy informs her, grinning when Phil has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m sorry, what? Barton, get out of that vent, I need you to kick some ass!” the scientist yells.

“Please, I’d have tased him. He turned out to be a freecycler. I tried to rescue a bike from a dumpster and –“

“What does that even mean?”

“Did Stark replace your equipment with something functional again, Bananas?” Darcy hears a man saying on Jane’s end.

“Bananas? And is that fucking _Hawkeye_?”

“Bananas Foster. He is the worst. You’re the _worst_ , Barton, and I’m telling the civilians! Anyway, what the hell is a freecycler?”

“A dirty hipster who pulls slightly expired shit out of dumpsters, which I probably should have guessed when he said I shouldn’t wear deodorant. But yeah, I was pulling a bike out of the trash and got scratched by a rusty spoke. And then he dropped his end on me.”

“Please tell me it was a last date.”

“Yeah, but I did meet a cute male nurse.”

Phil pokes a bruise a little harder than necessary and she sticks her tongue out.

* * *

 

“Could you hear him?”

“Who?”

She shoots him a pointed look over her breakfast tray.

“Yeah, I could. He sounded good,” Phil admits, stealing a bite of her waffles. “He’s always been resilient.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“How did you know he didn’t need a handler anymore?”

“He never really needed a handler,” he says thoughtfully. “At least, not in the traditional sense. He needed guidance more than he ever needed a boss – you know, someone to encourage him.”

“And you thought Captain Rogers could be that person,” she says knowingly. “What about Romanova – and are you gonna finish your orange juice?”

“It’s all yours. She never let herself need anybody. Not since she went rogue and came to our side.”

“And Snowed Under is your way of fixing her.”

“Snowed Under is my way of asking her to forgive me for abandoning her,” he corrects.

“She reminds me of a cat my mom found once. She wanted nothing to do with us and acted like she could take or leave living with us, but then we took a vacation and she was furious for months. It was like she’d been left one too many times,” she muses.

“I thought of her like a stray cat when Clint brought her in,” Phil agrees. “He nearly got demoted for that.”

“Really? But he brought in a master assassin.”

“Only after he failed to complete an assignment, disappeared for three days, and led said master assassin straight to the Director with only her word and a gut feeling that she wouldn’t kill all of us.”

“And yet you kept them both.”

“You’d have kept them, too. She broke our hearts.”

* * *

 

They make it halfway through a second episode of Frasier before she brings it up.

“So, I never really got a Human Resources lecture with this job. What are the rules on this?”

“There aren’t that many. I can’t be your upper level support if you have a conflict with an agent between four and ninety-two, I can’t promote you, and if we get married, I can’t be your handler, but you’re too highly ranked to have a handler anyhow,” Phil explains.

“That seems fairly modern.”

“We learned from experience. It’s hard for the field agents to date anybody outside of the agency. You have to lie about everything.”

“You dated a cellist, didn’t you?”

“She thought I was working on a business deal with Tony Stark.”

“Hmm.”

“We broke up before I died, Darcy,” he tells her softly.

“But what if you die again?”

“Are you kidding? Have you met you? I’ve got too much to live for. Now let’s get you dressed, Mrs. Clark. We’ve got that couples massage in half an hour.”

“Is that what you had to take care of?

“Yes.”

“Well, shit. You’re awesome, Mr. Clark.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Clark?”

“Just call me Abigail, Emily. I can’t be more than a year or two older than you,” Darcy sighs peacefully, keeping her head down and her eyes closed. There’s a damn good masseuse going to town on her back and her fingers are intertwined with Phil’s.

“Yes, ma’am. Abigail. There’s a man named Clive calling for you, and he insists on a confirmation that you’ll be meeting him for breakfast at seven o’clock tomorrow.”

“Oh, he is an odd one. Yes, tell him we’re both coming, and ask him not to forget my opera glasses, please.”

* * *

 

“Oh, I feel like I don’t even have bones,” she moans, stretching out on the bed. “Come down here, I can’t kiss you properly when you’re that high up.”

“Remember that feeling the next time you wear heels,” Phil teases, but he does as he’s told.

* * *

 

The walk to the office the next morning takes six minutes instead of the usual seven, which Phil seems slightly put off by when Barclay points it out. Darcy just laughs.

“Clive, huh?”

“Now you know my darkest secret,” he quips. “Ready to find Moretti’s?”

* * *

 

“Hello, Geno,” she smiles softly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I bet you have, bitch.”

“Your mother has missed you, too. Prison orange isn’t quite her color.”

“You’re bluffing,” he mumbles, and then she slides the photo across.

“I don’t do that, honey. You shouldn’t hide your cocaine in her house.”

“She’ll never get convicted.”

“This is SHIELD,” Darcy reminds him, putting her feet on the table and leaning back in her chair. “I’m the judge and jury. She disappears and her baby boy gets life, just so he can think about it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You know exactly what I want, Mr. Moretti. I’m willing to let your mama walk and put you both in protective custody, but you have to help me.”

“There’s nowhere you could hide us that Victor wouldn’t be able to find.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Moretti. Thank you for your cooperation,” she tells him, winking at Barclay through the two-way mirror.

* * *

 

“Von Doom,” Barclay groans. “Fucking hell.”

“Get Nick on the line. We’re going to need a cover story,” Phil orders.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scuba suit story IS in the next chapter, I promise. I wrote it in here and then decided it was better if Darcy heard it right before she meets Nick Fury.
> 
> Also, Von Doom. Latveria. Another country I won't mention yet. Cover stories. Nick Fury. I'm so excited. Plus, bonus interlude going up within an hour, which will totally give away the long-term goal of the mission, but I love it, so I'm doing it anyway.


	12. An Interlude Beneath The Ice

He dreams. They dream.

Winter dreams of blood and the weight of a Kalashnikov. His body remembers the feel of silk and gore and red, red hair. Her eyes in the dark, like a candle in the window.

But then there's James. Is there? There is a James in here, somewhere. It is James who dreams of a pale hand cutting through the fog and blue eyes meeting his through the ice. She gives him a Glock and tells him to shoot anyone he sees until they're out. She is there to take him home, but where is that?

Brooklyn. But that was long ago, when he was yet another person. He was charming, he was a ladies man. He was a boy, Bucky, but then... then he was a soldier in a uniform. Sergeant Barnes . And there was Steve, who changed so fast and not at all. He must be ninety now, or more. How can that be? How can the murderer have been kept safe below the ice while the better man wasted away?

No, he would not wish this ice on Steve. Not even with Natasha. Not even with the blue eyed girl.

It doesn't matter. They can do nothing but dream.


	13. The One Where Nick Fury Ships Darcy With All Of The Things

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to freeze to death right next to a car with a perfectly good heater,” Barclay grouses.

 Chicago isn’t the most comfortable place to wait for someone outdoors in January, but Darcy can tell that he’s only complaining for something to do, and that Phil will only tolerate so much.

“Hey boss, you never told me the scuba suit story,” she says, elbowing him good naturedly. To her surprise, Agent Barclay starts laughing.

“Barclay knows? Oh, now you have to tell us,” Joanna insists.

“Alright, alright,” Phil smiles. “We were on a mission off the coast of South Africa, and we’d been going hard for weeks. I don’t think we got more than three hours of sleep the whole week leading up to this. I remember hallucinating something about dwarves at one point,” he laughs.

“What was the mission?”

“We had to recover a box that was left at the bottom of the ocean by one of our allies and then deliver it to an agent who was posing as the assistant to the Australian ambassador, which is weird enough when you’re awake. Anyway, we got a call and the order was ‘get back into your suits and meet up with thirty-seven,’ followed by coordinates, but we had different interpretations of the first part of the message.”

“Oh my god,” Darcy laughs. “He didn’t.”

“He did!” Barclay laughs. “They showed up to meet thirty-seven, which was me, by the way, and Phil’s looking like a member of the Men In Black like always and there’s Nick in a fucking scuba suit at the ambassador’s house.”

“And you cut him out of it?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Phil nods, trying not to laugh. “Clive shoved us into the servant’s entrance and ran off to grab a spare suit, but Nick had broken the damn zipper and when I asked a maid for help, she handed me a rusty paring knife. So there I was, sawing away at his suit and hoping I didn’t cut him.”

“Took him twenty minutes, and then my suit was three inches too short. He met the ambassador like that,” Barclay adds, and then none of them can stop laughing.

* * *

 

When Director Fury gets out of the helicopter and approaches their SUV, Darcy is relieved to find that he’s just intimidating enough to keep her from laughing.

Until the others start, at least.

“Jesus Christ, you told them the story, didn’t you?” Fury grins, and then he’s throwing his arms around Coulson and it’s not what she was expecting, but it’s exactly what she’d hoped for.

* * *

 

By the time the four of them get around to discussing von Doom, Darcy is the lowest-ranking agent with permission to call him Nick.

* * *

 

“Snowed Under is the whole point of this office,” Barclay reminds them. “We can’t walk away from the mission just because Victor’s involved.”

“Well, we can’t send you in. He’s already promised to kill you for that little stunt you pulled the last time we were there,” Fury says.

“You can’t send anyone in,” Darcy points out. “I know I’m the low man in the office, but there’s no way that Victor von Doom will let anybody just stroll into Latveria, and there are only three people who are ever publicly invited in.”

“Two, if you don’t count people he only invites as an excuse to try to kill them,” Phil corrects. “Reed Richards can’t help us.”

“And I don’t trust Namor. Nine times out of ten, he has a plan of his own,” Vasquez adds.

“So that’s it, then. Joanna, get Wakanda on the phone and get Lewis a new credit card,” the director says, pushing his chair back.

“I’m sorry, what? I mean, what, sir? Nick?” Darcy asks, jumping up and following him as he leaves the room. “I’ve never been undercover before, sir. Not long-term.”

“Joint me in the elevator, Agent Lewis.”

* * *

 

Nick pulls the emergency stop button between their floor and the one below and then turns to her.

“You won’t be undercover. You studied politics in school, correct?”

“Graduated magna cum laude from Culver University. I was a Political Science major with a minor in Public Policy and Leadership, sir.”

“And do you think it’s possible that a person with a background like yours could beat out the competition for an internship in the Wakandan administration?”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Do you think you might then convincingly win the heart of the king and be part of his entourage when he is next invited into Latveria?”

“Sir, I…Jesus, you really throw people into this job, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, important note for once: There's a reason this story is listed as part one of a series. It makes no sense to keep calling the story "Agent Not-So-Dead" while he is (TEMPORARILY) not actually in the story. There are still at least two chapters of part one, and I will post the last chapter of it and the first chapter of part two ("From Wakanda With Love") simultaneously. This way, you can read the last chapter of this and click straight on to the next bit without worrying about remembering the name and what have you.
> 
> I hope all that gibberish makes some sort of sense.


	14. No Need For Speeches (No Use For Goodbyes)

There are things that she just won’t say.

She won’t say that she loves him, because she’s not sure that she does, and it’s too soon anyway.

She won’t say that she doesn’t want to go, which might make leaving easier, but wouldn’t be true. Director Fury is gift-wrapping the greatest opportunity she could ever have hoped for, in terms of both the political career she once wanted and her newfound knack for espionage.

She won’t say these things, and he won’t make her feel sorry for that, and it makes her think that maybe they’re a little bit true after all.

* * *

 

“Go over it again,” Phil urges, interlacing their fingers and staring at the ceiling.

“Tomorrow I’m going to call Jane and tell her that I’m in the final round of candidates. She’ll get excited, she’ll yell, Tony Stark will invite me to stay at the tower, Jane will insist because I didn’t come for Christmas. Then I’ll go, and I’ll meet the team, and I’ll meet King T’Challa of Wakanda. I’ll be given the position, I’ll celebrate with Jane, and I’ll tell them I’m coming back here to pack and then ...”

“Then you’ll go to Wakanda, wow the people, and be wooed by the king, who will whisk you away to foreign locales whenever he travels, including to Latveria,” he finishes with a soft smile, turning over to face her. She turns, too, curling into his chest.

“I could be gone for a very long time, Phil. From the moment I’m gone until I’m in Latveria, Victor von Doom is running the timeline. I can’t –“

“I know. Darcy, you don’t need to give me the ‘I can’t call and I can’t tell you when I’ll be back’ speech.”

“I know, but I want to.”

* * *

 

She drags Joanna out of the office for a day of shopping, courtesy of Director Fury and her new credit card, and they both nearly cry when a sales clerk tells Darcy that she looks like her mother.

Agent Vasquez doesn’t have children.

She was married, once, to a fellow field agent when they were both in their late twenties. She had told Darcy over lunch a few weeks ago, when she’d asked about the tattoo on the older woman’s wrist.

“It was my husband’s badge number,” she had said, running her finger over the small ‘108’. “We were married for seven weeks when he went undercover in a weapons trafficking ring. Two years later, Nick Fury brought me his body.”

“I’m so sorry, Joanna,” Darcy told her, but she only smiled and shook her head.

“He was killed for refusing to murder Howard Stark’s five year old son. It broke my heart, but if he’d done it, I wouldn’t have wanted him to come home anyway. I never got that close to anyone again, though. This job doesn’t mix well with families.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Jane,” Darcy says, tucking her feet underneath her and taking a sip of her latte. “I have big news.”

“You’ve eloped with the freecycler,” Jane guesses.

“No, you butt. Why do I even miss you?” she laughs.

“Beats me. Can you hang on one second?”

“Sure.”

Darcy takes another sip and surveys the Starbucks as Jane asks someone to call for her if her new set of numbers yields anything and walks through what sounds like two automatic doors.

“Sorry about that. What’s the news?”

“Okay, do you remember what country I’ve always wanted to go to, more than any other?”

“How could I forget? You and Erik didn’t speak for a week after you told him that the Wakandan form of monarchy was superior to the European model.”

“European monarchs lost their power because they had no empathy for the people, whereas the Wakandan royal family has always –“

“I know, I know. How does your crazy love of unusual monarchs relate to your news?”

“I didn’t tell you before because I never thought I’d get this far, but I just found out I made it into the final round of consideration for an internship in King T’Challa’s –“

“Oh my God, congratulations!” Jane shrieks.

“Jeez, let me finish. That’s not even the whole story,” Darcy laughs.

“Okay, okay, sorry. What else?”

“The final interview is in New York, in four days.”

“Jarvis, where’s Tony? Can I call you back? I have to –“

“Yes, go on,” Darcy grins.

* * *

 

Four hours later, she gets a call from an unknown number while they’re all out to dinner and holds the phone out to Nick.

“Tony Stark’s house. It’s either his AI or Pepper Potts. Depends on her job title this week.”

The other agents immediately fall silent as she takes the call.

“Hello?”

“Am I speaking to Miss Darcy Lewis?” a crisp British voice asks.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I am Jarvis, calling on behalf of Mr. Tony Stark. He would like to extend an invitation to stay in Stark Tower during your visit to the city, and requests a prompt answer, as he is so rarely permitted to entertain guests these days.”

Nick rolls his eyes at that last bit.

“Please tell Mr. Stark that I accept his invitation and I’m honored.”

“I shall, Miss Lewis. Mr. Stark has given Dr. Foster leave to arrange the details, for your convenience. We look forward to your arrival,” the AI concludes, and then it promptly ends the call.

“Well, that was interesting,” Darcy muses.

“Stark usually is,” Phil smiles.

* * *

 

“To Darcy,” Clive says, raising his glass. “The finest stalker I’ve ever been formally introduced to.”

“Here, here,” Joanna agrees.

“Hey!” Darcy laughs. “Is that the best thing you’ve got to say about me?”

“Not even close, kid,” he smiles.

“This isn’t about me, anyway,” she deflects, raising her own glasses. “To James, who has been waiting to come home for a very long time.”

“To James,” they echo solemnly, glasses clinking together.

* * *

 

“If I could do it right, I would. I’d take you to the Signature Room next Friday, at sunset. We’d laugh about the night I first brought you here, we’d reminisce about the good times we’ve had since then. We’d hold hands on the way back, and I’d tell you how beautiful you are, and I’d do this right,” Phil whispers, punctuating his sentences with soft kisses. “But our next Friday might be years away, and I would hate to say goodbye to you without doing this first.”

“Oh my God, you’re not proposing are you?” Darcy asks, completely stunned.

“What? No. I mean, I –“

“No, no, sorry, I’m – was that your closer?”

“Yes. I might have overdone it a little,” Phil chuckles, cheeks pink.

“It was perfect. Stop talking and start taking your clothes off,” she grins.

* * *

 

“Your office will be here when you get back,” Joanna says, wiping her eyes.

“I expect we’ll need to change the number on the door. You’ll probably make me do it,” Barclay tries to complain.

“You know I will. I’m not coming home until I’m at least in the sixties,” she agrees.

“Here, we got you this.”

Phil hands her a long velvet box. She opens it and finds an insertion needle and a thin silicone rod.

“Uh, thanks?”

“It contains a small tracking device that will activate if the rod is removed and snapped. It’s for emergency, mission ending extractions only,” Joanna explains. “You could be anywhere in the world and I would find you and have the nearest agent pull you out sooner than they thought possible.”

“Thank you,” Darcy says, starting to tear up and then laughing at herself. “Okay, who gets to stab me?”

“I do,” Phil answers. Clive snickers and Joanna elbows him in the ribs.

“You’re ruining a moment, you ass,” she hisses, and Darcy and Clive both start giggling.

* * *

 

At the airport, Darcy is waved through security with one flash of her badge and spends the next twenty minutes embracing Phil.

They don’t speak until her flight is called for boarding.

“I’m going to miss you, Phil.”

“I’ll miss you too, Darcy,” he says, and then he kisses her, and she doesn’t pull away until the last call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Darcy meets Tony Stark, finds an anomaly, gets deep with Captain Rogers, impresses a king, makes an alliance, and says yet another goodbye. PLUS the first chapter of "From Wakanda With Love," in which she lands in exotic Wakanda and tries to figure out just how far in over her head she's gotten herself.


	15. Matched In Pencil

When Darcy arrives at LaGuardia, she’s not surprised to find a man waiting with a sign reading “Darcy Lewis,” but she’s more than a little shocked by who it is.

“Tony Fucking Stark,” she says, grinning as she walks toward him.

“I think I like Fucking much better than Edward. It suits me,” he says with a wink and a smirk. The paparazzi are going nuts with the camera flashes.

Darcy almost laughs when they pull out their sunglasses at the same time.

* * *

 

“Holy shit, you’re Dr. Banner,” Darcy gasps when the elevator doors open.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go green on you, Miss Lewis,” he says with a surprising wryness.

“Dude, that’s so not why I reacted that way. Your hotness is legendary at Culver, but I thought it was an exaggeration.”

“No, he’s definitely got the hot scientist thing going on.”

“Tony,” Bruce sighs.

“Hey, I pride myself on my house full of hot scientists and master assassins.”

“I think I like it here already,” Darcy announces.

* * *

 

“Bananas, your friend is here,” Clint Barton’s voice calls when they step out into the main residential floor.

“DARCY!” Jane shrieks, running over and flinging her arms around Darcy, who is casually pretending not to have noticed Barton and Romanov approaching.

“Darcy Lewis, this is Clint Barton, and this is Natasha Romanov.”

“Call me Tasha,” the redhead says with a smile, and Darcy marks that as a red flag right away. This woman is genuinely reacting to new people with an inclination towards friendship, which doesn’t line up with her files or Phil’s descriptions at all. In fact, Phil had indicated that only he, James, and Barton ever called her Tasha.

“Nice to meet you, Tasha,” she says, shaking her hand. “And you too, Clint. I have to ask, though – Bananas? Really?”

“She’s a little crazy, but she’s sweet,” he answers, and that, too, strikes her as odd.

“The sweetest,” she agrees, squeezing Jane in a bear hug.

* * *

 

“You know, with a name like Black Widow, I thought she’d be scarier,” she observes as Jane shows her the room she’ll be staying in. It’s nicer than the hotel that she felt spoiled in.

“She wasn’t this friendly when I got here, but I think she’s starting to get used to sort of having a family,” Jane tells her.

“Jane, you moved into a weird hippie commune and you didn’t even invite me,” Darcy laughs.

“It’s not like that. It’s a little different for them than it is for me, but I think it’s the team thing. You can’t risk your lives together and not open up,” she explains, and Darcy thinks of Clive and Joanna.

“Yeah, I get that. It must make you miss Thor a lot, though.”

“Yes and no. Tony and Bruce have been amazingly helpful with my work. Well, Bruce has. Tony keeps asking me how much longer it’s going to take and trying to replace my equipment.”

“Maybe he thinks it’ll go faster if the equipment actually works all of the time, Bananas,” she points out.

“Yeah, well,” the scientist shrugs.

* * *

 

“Captain, you aren’t going to be able to look away, and then your ears will turn red and it’ll be embarrassing for everyone. I can’t incite accusations of innocence existing within these walls,” Tony is saying when they enter the gym.

“I can’t imagine you’ve had that problem before,” Darcy smirks, and then he turns around and she’s completely unsurprised by his matching expression.

“Speak of the devil and she will appear. Miss Darcy Lewis, I’d like to introduce you to the only respectable member of my household, Captain Steven Rogers…but I can’t, because you just might kill him with that mouth of yours.”

“I don’t know about that, Tony. He looks healthy enough to handle my mouth,” she says, giving Steve an appraising look and then winking at him.

“Miss Lewis, it’s an honor to meet you. Jane has told us a lot about you and –“

He stops and holds up one finger when flashing red lights go off.

“Partial assembly requested immediately. SHIELD threat assessment protocols recommend Iron Man and Agent Barton. Agent Romanov to stand ready,” Tony’s AI announces.

“That sounds bad,” Darcy observes as Tony leaves the gym.

“No, when it’s only two, it’s usually something little, just to be nice to the city. Probably a bank robbery,” Steve tells her.

“You’ll know it’s bad when they ask for me,” Bruce says, fist-bumping Tony as they pass each other in the doorway. “Jane, can you give me a hand with something in lab three?”

“Darcy, do you –“

“Go. I know better than to stand between you and a lab. Besides, it’ll give Captain Rogers time to give me a tour.”

* * *

 

Tony and Clint don’t get back until almost midnight, and they come in grinning and carrying pizzas.

“Thank God,” Natasha sighs happily. At first Darcy thinks it’s relief that they look unharmed, but Barton’s next comment makes her laugh.

“I know, right? I thought we were going to be eating Chinese _forever_.”

“It was close. He ended up on the roof of that place with the bad egg rolls, but then I scratched one of my footplates landing on the pizza joint,” Tony adds.

“That’s your takeout system?”

“Sort of?” Bruce answers. “We have three systems.”

“Votes for group dinners, unless someone wants to cook when it’s their turn-“ Natasha starts.

“Which means that Clint, Bruce, and I cook every week and Tony sometimes makes breakfast for dinner –“ Steve interrupts.

“Whatever the worst injury occurs closest to after missions, and rock-paper-scissors for any ties,” the redhead finishes, grabbing plates from a cupboard.

* * *

 

By the time she goes to bed that night, Darcy can’t remember the last time she laughed so much.

* * *

 

She wakes early, heading to the kitchen in her pajamas to get a snack before she heads to the gym and is surprised to see Steve standing there with his head in the refrigerator.

“Good morning, Steve.”

“Oh, hey, Darcy,” he mumbles. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she smiles.

“I’m always up this early. I have to eat a lot, and I like to get to the gym before Clint does,” he explains. “Could I interest you in a smoothie?”

“Sure,” she says, and while he’s reaching back into the refrigerator she notices the sketchpad on the counter.

“Do you mind if I look at your sketches?”

“Go ahead. They’re mostly landscapes and the team.”

She intended to peruse casually, but she finds that his art is telling a story. The first few pages are full of rough sketches of some older landmarks and the stranger angles that make up the other Avengers, which she takes as an artist returning to form from a long time away from his craft. Then there are imperfect sketches of Phil, which seem to get worse and then stop after a few pages, as though his inability to get the agent right had frustrated him.

Pages and pages of casual team moments and more practiced landscapes come next, interspersed with little cartoon figures and occasional panels. It’s the clear progression of the team captured in the drawings that holds her attention – they start out further apart, with tense angles, and work their way towards the tangle of camaraderie that they live in now. It’s beautiful.

And then she turns the page and sees him.

She would know those eyes anywhere. His hair is shorter in the drawing, and he looks slightly less muscular, but it couldn’t be anyone else.

“Who’s this?” she asks lightly when Steve slides her glass across the counter.

“That’s Bucky,” he tells her, taking a sip of his smoothie. “He was my best friend, before.”

_Before you went under the ice and didn’t come up for seventy years_ , Darcy thinks.

“That’s the day he died,” Steve continues as she drinks and traces a finger over the arm that holds onto the door of the train - the arm which, if her new suspicion is correct, didn’t survive the damage.

“I’m sorry,” she says earnestly, but Steve just shakes his head.

“It was a long time ago.” He places his glass in the sink and Darcy steels herself to ask one more question.

“Where did this happen?”

“Somewhere in Russia,” he answers. “Hey, you wouldn’t want to a little one-on-one, would you?”

It’s an obvious attempt to change the subject, but she lets him.

“I’d love to. I’ll just go change and meet you down there.”

* * *

 

She does not dare to write it down or say it out loud, thinking of Jarvis, so she lays on her bed for a moment and considers her information.

Natasha was once in love with a man known as the Winter Soldier, who trained her when she was a teenager. He, like her, was frequently brainwashed, and, according to her, he had lapses in memory during which he insisted that he was an American named James and tried to attack anyone who spoke to him unless they used English. After these incidents, he would disappear for varying periods of time, until one day he tried to kill her and another Red Room agent and was never heard from again. She had heard that they might be holding him alive somewhere.

That was all SHIELD knew until shortly before Darcy joined them, when a girl sold by Geno Moretti’s cousin broke free from her buyer and got herself to an FBI field office, demanding contact with SHIELD. The girl had told Agent Vasquez that she had been trained and then rejected by the Red Room and, for amnesty and protection, would turn over valuable information. That information turned out to be worth more than she knew.

“The Winter Soldier is frozen,” she had said. “Frozen like your Captain America, until they need him, and then they make him fight. But he cannot fight like he used to. They say he will burn the world if he loses it again. You want to kill him first, you find the man who owns the man who sells the girls. He knows where they keep him.”

Darcy thinks about the eyes from her dream, matched in pencil. The arm from the dream, Natasha’s extended file, and Steve’s drawing.

Steve’s drawing of Bucky, also known as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who SHIELD, like the rest of the world, had mostly forgotten. His name has been mentioned in a few articles since Steve resurfaced, but only because Steve and Bucky had been “buried” next to each other.

There is no doubt in Darcy’s mind that Steve’s Bucky and Natasha’s Winter Soldier are the same person.

* * *

 

“I would have won if you stopped playing when normal people do,” she grouses as they enter the common area.

“Sing it, sister,” Clint says, not looking up from the television.

“Are you watching ‘Mean Girls’?”

“I might be.”

Darcy carefully considers this for a moment and then hops over the back of the couch and settles down next to him.

* * *

 

At 1:55 the next afternoon, Darcy meets up with Tony on the roof.

“This isn’t necessary, you know.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” he insists, setting down the Mark IV and looking up at her. “If you think you can handle it.”

“Bring it, Stark,” she smirks.

“Your wish is my command, Miss Lewis,” he winks, activating the suit. She watches in awe as it unpacks itself and the individual plates slide over his clothes. When the faceplate snaps into place, he holds out a hand.

“You’d better hold on tight,” he tells her as she takes it, pulling her closer.

* * *

 

“When Jarvis informed me that you would be bringing her, I thought you were pulling my leg,” T’Challa says with an amused expression.

“Would I do that?” Tony asks innocently. Darcy lets go of him and takes a step back.

“Yes, you would,” she answers.

“Yes, well. Good to see you, as always, old friend. _You_ I will see when you get home,” he flirts, lifting the face plate for just long enough to wink at her and then taking off.

“You make a very strange first impression, Agent Lewis,” T’Challa laughs.

* * *

 

In lieu of a real interview, Darcy finds that T’Challa is genuinely pleasant to talk to.

“I must ask, if the Avengers are unaware of your status, how did you come to stay in Stark Tower?”

“Thor and I are old friends. When he first arrived here, I was interning for an astrophysicist, Dr. Jane Foster.”

“Foster? I caught her lecture in Norway. It was most enlightening, even if it was a last minute safety measure. She’s one of the most brilliant minds in modern science.”

“Coming from you, she would see that as the highest compliment, your majesty.”

“Now, Miss Lewis, if we’re to convince the world that we’re in love, you must call me T’Challa,” he smiles.

“And you must call me Darcy.”

* * *

 

When the elevator opens, Tony is in it.

“Have you been in the elevator the whole time I was gone?”

“That would be ridiculous. Pepper's in the common area, so I’m hiding.”

“That’s not ridiculous at all. Need a riding buddy? Oh, not like that, you ass,” she laughs when he raises an eyebrow. She gets in and hits the button for the roof.

“She’s just…she’s hard to be around. She looks at me like I make her tired, and I – wait, did you get the job?”

“I got the job.”

“Congratulations,” he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. “It eliminates the need for my contingency plan, but I’m happy for you.”

“Contingency plan?”

“We were going to ask you to move in if you didn’t get it. Still, the offer’s on the table when you get back.”

* * *

 

Darcy stays with them for four more days, and it’s just long enough that she wishes she didn’t have to leave. She finds herself fitting into their dynamic nicely, filling roles that need filled and rounding out Tony Stark’s sharper edges.

And yet, she knows, she wouldn’t deserve them if she were to stay, so she packs her things. She will find Sergeant Barnes and bring him back to Steve and Natasha. Phil will come back from the dead. After that, she can tell Clint and Natasha the truth about herself, and she’ll be able to take Tony up on his offer if they still want her.

In the meantime, she says goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for reading, commenting, subscribing, and leaving kudos in waaaaaaay higher numbers than I ever imagined.
> 
> "From Wakanda With Love" continues this story, and the first chapter will be up in less than three minutes.


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